


Postponing Life

by CrownShyness



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety, Arranged Marriage, Ball, Daddy Issues, Dancing, Feelings, Fluff, Guilt, Homophobia?, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealousy, Knight, M/M, More Pining, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pining, Prince/Knight, Social Anxiety, Tenderness, Yearning, lord/retainer, mentions of rape/non-con, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2020-10-28 20:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20784887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownShyness/pseuds/CrownShyness
Summary: Linhardt is a reluctant prince, the sole heir to the von Hevring name. Caspar is his loyal retainer, a strong and passionate knight. Because of their positions, neither of them have bothered to act on their growing feelings for each other. But when Linhardt is expected to enter into an arranged marriage, things take a different turn.





	1. The Reluctant Prince

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this silly AU I came up with! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

There was a long list of things that Prince Linhardt von Hevring preferred not to think about. The list included politics, bloodshed, responsibility, dealing with other people, and, most of all, his future. As the sole heir to the von Hevring line, Linhardt was to become king as soon as his father stepped down, before which he was expected to be arranged to a bride that his father found suitable. As king, he would have to deal with politics, bloodshed, responsibility, and other people. Not to mention the obligation to produce a suitable heir to repeat the miserable cycle all over again. It was in fact the opposite of the life he would’ve chosen for himself; a carefree existence in which he could fish and nap and pursue his independent research without anything to tie him down. Linhardt preferred to think about that which was free and serene and unrestricted; all concepts that were becoming increasingly foreign in his own life.

“Your Highness, His Majesty has requested your presence,” said a timid maid through the door to Linhardt’s room.

The prince let out a long sigh.

“Tell him I’ll be there in a half an hour. I have the most awful headache,” he said, adding a little bit of dramatic emphasis to sell the white lie.

“My apologies, Your Highness, but His Majesty needs to see you as quickly as possible.”

Of course. His father just couldn’t let him rest, could he?

“Ugh, I’m coming,” Linhardt moaned, rubbing his eyes as he sat up from where he was lying on his bed. 

He had really hoped to fit in a longer afternoon nap. As he buttoned his white silk shirt back up, he wondered if he should brush through his hair. No, too much work. He was just seeing his father, after all.

The still-sleepy prince meandered to the door, and when he opened it, he was immediately greeted by his knight, Caspar.

As Linhardt’s personal retainer, Sir Caspar von Bergliez had the build of a warrior, strong muscles from years and years of training more than making up for his lack of considerable height. 

“Lin! We need to get going, and fast!” said Caspar, urgently.

“Carry me, then.” the prince smiled.

A ghost of a blush came to the knight’s face, but he picked the taller man up without hesitation. After all, it wasn’t exactly an unusual request.

“Ya know, I can’t carry you everywhere you go. You should get more training in! Don’t you want to be able to defend yourself if someone comes to like, assassinate you or something?” the knight asked.

“That’s what you’re here for,” Linhardt yawned.

“I can’t believe that you can be comfortable leaning against steel armor of all things!”

“It’s not that bad,”

It really wasn’t. Nestled in Caspar’s strong arms, Linhardt wished he could just fall asleep right then and there. In fact, if he could have his way, he’d never leave them.

Locked in the back of his mind right next to his thoughts about the future were his feelings for his retainer. 

Linhardt had harbored a crush on Caspar since he was fifteen, but it was only within the past couple of years that he became painfully aware of his feelings. The realization wasn’t sudden, but rather a slow culmination of thoughts that became harder and harder to ignore. Like the way that he admired the determined fire in his ice-blue eyes. And how tempting it was to ruffle through his fluffy cyan hair. And how much he loved his smile; so bright that it was almost blinding. Despite having very little common personality traits or interests, they had always gotten along well. In fact, Caspar may have been the only person in the castle that didn’t bore him to tears. 

Now approaching age 22, Linhardt’s feelings for the man who had been there to protect him almost his entire life had gradually deepened into something much more than a crush. He had come to terms with the fact that he desired Caspar in the way he was expected to desire a noblewoman. He wanted to stay in his arms forever and kiss him until they both felt dizzy. However, because he knew full well that he could never have him like that, he preferred to shove those feelings into the back of his mind with everything else that he didn’t like to think about.

When the two arrived at the doors to the king’s study, Caspar gently set Linhardt down, and then squeezed his hand for reassurance.

“Good luck,” he smiled.

“I’ll just get this over with,” Linhardt said as he twisted the doorknob.

“I told the maid that I needed you here immediately. Were my orders not properly repeated?” said Linhardt’s father as he entered the room.

A tall, stoic man; the king was intimidating even though he wasn’t in any way a warrior.

“They were repeated just fine, thank you very much.” Linhardt stated matter-of-factly, perching on the chair in front of the desk.

“Linhardt, you are the sole heir to the von Hevring line. How many years will it take for you to act the part?” the king asked, letting out a deep sigh.

“What does it matter how I act? My fate is sealed either way.”

“But the fate of the kingdom isn’t. A king is supposed to be attentive, alert, diligent, and polite. You are none of those things.”

The prince cocked his head. “Oh, another circular rant about how I’m distractible, sleepy, lazy, and rude? Trust me, I’m aware.”

“And you don’t care at all? Have you no pride as Prince Linhardt von Hevring?” the king furrowed his brow.

“No, not particularly. I don’t care for pride.”

“You don’t care for anything! It’s only Caspar and that science drabble that can keep you engaged!”

“Science drabble? Scientific progress is exponentially more important than your worn-out traditions. And for your information, I’d rather bicker with my friend of sixteen years than engage in whatever petty quarrels that you have with the other kingdoms.”

“Petty? There’s a difference between war and squabble.” his father’s frame started to get more tense, frustration seeping into his face.

“Yes, and the difference is that the former involves needless bloodshed. My apologies for lumping the two together.”

“Enough! I have grown weary of your improper attitude. You’re far too old for this.” the king snapped.

Linhardt held his tongue. Snarky remarks with his father couldn’t accomplish much, after all.

The prince’s father took a deep breath, shifting in his chair. “The reason that I have called you here is because I wanted to alert you that there is a royal woman who is interested in joining with our house.”

“Oh? So you’ve finally found a family who is willing to marry their daughter off to a lazy, unsociable man like me?” 

“You should be grateful. Most men wish to marry a princess, after all.”

“Who is the lucky lady?” Linhardt asked, his tone sarcastic.

“Princess Bernadetta von Varley. Her father and I agree that your marriage would be beneficial to facilitate amiable relations between our kingdoms.”

“And just how would a marriage to a woman who I have never met in my life fix your childish disagreements?”

“You’re naive, Linhardt. Is there a woman you would rather be with? I suggest that you speak up now.”

The prince’s mouth quirked up to one side. Though the prospect of arranged marriage always made him gloomy, he couldn’t help but find his father’s question funny.

“No, there isn’t a woman that comes to mind,” Linhardt said.

The king was satisfied with the answer. “Good. I have scheduled a meeting with the princess and her family in a week. Now please continue with your political studies. Your tutoring is scheduled in an hour.”

“So, how’d it go?” Linhardt was greeted with Caspar’s bright smile as soon as he exited the study.

The prince sighed. “It’s another possible marriage arrangement,”

A flash of a certain emotion came across the knight’s face momentarily. Was it… disappointment?

“But it will probably fall through like all the other ones have,” he continued.

“Oh, don’t say that! I’m sure she’ll want to marry you as soon as she sees you!” the knight said, obviously forcing himself to be upbeat.

Linhardt respected Caspar’s attempt at positivity, but it only managed to make him more uncomfortable. He dreaded the prospect of his inevitable arranged marriage almost more than almost anything else. The thought of marrying someone that he didn’t love, of having children doomed to as dull of a life as his own sounded terrible. But most of all, he dreaded the thought of having to hold someone and kiss someone and love someone who wasn’t Caspar. He could deal with a life without romance. But having to pretend to love someone that he didn’t? That was another thing altogether.

“Is there… something wrong?” Caspar asked. “Are you tired? Do you want me to carry you back?”

Linhardt cracked the slightest smile. “I think I’d like that,”

Back in the arms of his retainer, Linhardt felt a little more content. A woman he’d rather be with? He wanted to laugh at the thought. It was a man that he had fallen for. A man of a lower ranking. A man that he couldn’t produce an heir with. Of course it had to be someone that broke every royal tradition, but he was never the type to care for tradition anyway. Linhardt wasn’t necessarily a romantic, but he had fallen for his knight so deeply that he wondered if he could ever let him go. And in his heart, he knew he wouldn’t.

\---- 

The young Prince Linhardt stared at the boy in front of him. Shorter than him but a little less frail, his icy blue hair and eyes couldn’t compete with the friendly warmth of his face.

“I’m Caspar! Nice to meet ya!” the boy said cheerfully, extending his hand.

Linhardt took it hesitantly. “My name is Linhardt,” he said quietly.

“Linhardt! I’m gonna train every day so that I can protect you!” Caspar shouted, shooting a fist in the air.

“That sounds tiring,” the young prince yawned, settling himself down under a tree. “I’m gonna go to sleep now.”

“Okay, but I’ll keep watch and kill any monsters that try to attack you!”

“I don’t care, but do what you want. Just be quiet, please.”

A couple of hours later, the two young boys were found piled on top of each other in the grass, both sleeping deeply.


	2. Full Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caspar is having trouble supressing his feelings for Prince Linhardt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, be sure to check the tags for warnings!  
Next, I would like to give a huge shoutout to my sweet friend Sadds (plutobody on tumblr) for her support, help, and critique! Go check out her amazing artwork.

There wasn’t a long list of things that Sir Caspar von Bergliez was inclined to think too much about. He was all passion and little reason, and though he was reckless, he gave everything his all. In his training he was more than diligent, and his dedication to the prince was undeniable. As the second son of the noble Bergliez family, the knight had no inheritance to his name. But since his family was known for their military prowess, he was able to train as Prince Linhardt von Hevring’s personal retainer since he was six. It was exactly the life that he wanted. After all, he got to do what he loved most every day; training, fighting, and eating delicious food-- all for his best friend. The only downside was being tied down to one place, but he could live with that if it meant that he could stay by Linhardt’s side.

“Linhardt, it’s time for dinner!” Caspar said, knocking on the prince’s bedroom door.

As far as he knew, he was one of the only people who didn’t refer to him as some sort of noble title, like “prince” or “your highness.” Of course, neither he nor the prince were much for formalities.

“Ugh, can you bring some up to me?” a sluggish voice asked through the door.

“I would, but I think you’ll want to come down. You’ve been in your room all day, and people are starting to wonder if you’re okay. I can do the talking for ya if anyone asks questions.” Caspar suggested.

“Fair enough, I guess,” Linhardt groaned.

After a few minutes, the door opened. Out stepped the prince; tall, pale, and slender. His shirt was buttoned lazily, his flowing forest-green hair was loose and a little messy, and his eyes were still droopy. He had definitely just woken up from a nap. This wasn’t unusual. The prince was known to be somewhat lethargic, always looking for ways to sneak in some shuteye. Caspar had never been able to wrap his head around why Linhardt loved sleeping so much, as he himself always seemed to have energy in excess that couldn’t be contained.

“Is there something wrong? If it’s my hair, I’ll have you know that I don’t care in the least.” Linhardt said as he stepped out into the hall.

Oh. He’d caught him staring.

“N-no, it’s nothing. Should we go now?” Caspar said, hoping he wasn’t blushing.

“We might as well,” the prince yawned.

As they walked, Caspar tried his best to avoid the prince’s gaze. How embarrassing it was that he’d noticed him staring! But could anyone really blame him? He was gorgeous! Even slightly unkempt, Linhardt still managed to look elegant. Who wouldn’t be caught off guard?

As much as Caspar tried to justify it, he could hardly deny that he had deeper feelings for the delicate prince. Feelings that were not only inappropriate for his status as a retainer, but would also ruin their deep friendship if they were ever to be found out. He tried his best to suppress them every time they came up, but sometimes, late at night, he would wonder how he let himself fall for Linhardt. He may have been seventeen when he noticed that the prince’s melancholy gaze made him melt a little every time it rested on him. And then he started noticing other things. Like how smooth his porcelain skin looked. How silky his long evergreen hair must feel, and the way it fell over his shoulders. The way his tiny emerald earrings (a gift from his mother he’d gotten at sixteen) glimmered when they caught the sunlight. And the little facial expressions he gave him that said exactly what he wanted to say, no words required. Now approaching age 22, Caspar could hardly deny his feelings anymore, even though he’d rather die than admit to them. But he couldn’t quite come to terms with his longing to hold the prince in his arms and never let go, to kiss him until he ran out of energy to continue. He was acutely aware that none of that could ever happen anyway. After all, Linhardt was the future king. It was his duty to marry a noblewoman and carry on the royal bloodline. So Caspar shoved his feelings into the back of his mind and tried his best to keep them there.

Linhardt may have had a tendency to be rude in social situations, but he had excellent table manners. Caspar admired the way he carefully cut his steak into little bites and brought them up to his mouth with the silver fork. He was cute when he ate, he thought, trying not to stare at his small mouth as it chewed slowly. He himself wasn’t the best with table manners. Always hungry from his intense training, he usually wolfed down his food without much regard for anything else. Sometimes he finished his meal within a couple of minutes. The prince used to express his distaste about how fast he ate almost every day. Over the years, his complaints had lessened, replaced mostly by occasional quirks of his brow. He did make a comment this time, though.

“You might want to eat something before we have dinner with the princess and her family next week.”

Caspar didn’t understand. “What? Why?”

The prince smiled, apparently amused that he couldn’t pick up what he meant.

“You’re hopeless when it comes to eating in polite company.”

There was a pause as the hungry knight thought of a response.

“Well, at least I don’t fall asleep in the middle of conversations with people!”

Linhardt laughed a little, a small, gloved hand coming up to his mouth (It was incredibly cute, but Caspar tried not to think about that.)

“It’s not my fault that most people are terribly boring.”

“Boring? You’ve like, never been outside of the castle. How would you know?”

The prince put a finger on his chin, and furrowed his brow slightly.

“Well, if you include my family, the knights, the soldiers, the gardeners, the servants, and whoever else frequents this place, I would say I have a decent sample size. Of course, there is a bias toward people of a higher standing in the kingdom, but I can’t imagine that would count for too much.” he started, leaning back in his chair. “And considering you’re the only person who doesn’t bore me, it’s safe for me to assume that approximately 99 percent of people are quite dull.”

Caspar didn’t understand the prince’s thought process, but he found himself blushing at the… compliment? He couldn’t tell. There was no way he was the only one who amused Linhardt, but the thought of being special to him was nice…

...way too nice. He shook his head before his thoughts spiralled out of control.  
“Is there something wrong?” Linhardt asked, pushing a half-eaten plate of food away (this was typical; he was an incredibly light eater.)

“Oh, no. It’s just that… well, I wasn’t expecting that.” Caspar scratched his head.

He laughed again. “Do you want the rest of my food?”

Caspar’s face brightened. “You know I do!”

After the meal, Caspar escorted Linhardt back to his bedroom. It certainly was a room fit for a prince. There was a large canopy bed stuffed with pillows in the middle, a generous bookshelf on the right side, and a table for tea on the left beside the wide window. Sometimes, Linhardt invited him to have tea there, just the two of them. Caspar loved those moments more than anything. Even more than sparring or exploring the hunting grounds on his day off. In those moments, Linhardt was able to show his true self. A man who was passionate about the things that he was interested in and eager to learn as much as he possibly could. Even when Caspar couldn’t understand what the prince was rambling on about, he didn’t care. Because those were the moments where he looked excited, alive… happy. It was such a contrast to the apathetic and melancholy demeanor he presented in public. What would happen once he got married? Would he still get to enjoy his company? Would he still get to listen to his ideas, eyes glimmering with one of his rare smiles? Would he ever get to see him smile like that again?

The knights at the castle usually rotated the duty of checking up on the soldiers’ barracks. Tonight, it was Caspar’s turn. The contrast between the barracks and the actual castle was stark enough to be almost baffling. They had simple construction and dusty walls instead of ornate architecture and lavish decor. Cramped bunks instead of large, private rooms. Walls thin enough to hear… talking? Laughter? Caspar walked down the hall and heard the merriment coming from a room near the back. There were two voices; loud and somewhat slurred. Were they drunk? Soldiers were only supposed to drink on weekends. Caspar decided to listen in on the conversation through the door.

“Heard a rumor that the prince is getting arranged for marriage. For real this time,” said a man with a husky voice, his tone laced with mirth.

“You can’t be serious. What woman would want to be with someone like him?” laughed the second voice.

“I don’t know, but whoever she is, she must be desperate. After all, a soft and lazy creature like the prince would be better of sleeping with one of us!”

Caspar felt white-hot anger shoot through his veins. His hand immediately snapped to the doorknob, but he restrained himself before opening it. 

“Ha! He’s as slender and delicate as any woman. He must be a lightweight, right? I bet we could have some fun with him!”

“Oh! Maybe we could get his stupid looking lapdog to--”

That was it. Caspar burst through the door, sword drawn. Empty bottles littered the floor, some of them broken into scattered glass shards. The stench of sweat and alcohol was almost overbearing. The two drunk soldiers immediately stopped talking. One of them was a large man with a full beard, and the other was tall and had close-cropped blonde hair. They were armorless and vulnerable, but they still had swords at their waists.

“Oh, Sir Caspar! We were just talking about you. How would you like to bring the prince down here some--”

The blonde soldier wasn’t able to finish his sentence; Caspar already had him pinned to the wall. The bearded man drew his sword and swung, but Caspar was able to easily deflect it with his own. He gave the soldier that he had in his grip a sharp elbow to the head, then turned to subdue the other one as the former fell to the floor with a thud. Knocking the weapon out of the bearded man’s hands was easy. With a shout and a strong kick, he sent him flying into the wall. Suddenly, the blonde man regained consciousness, coming at him with a wide punch. Obvious. A strangled yell came from Caspar’s throat, and he ducked and punched him sharply in the gut, sending him into the bearded soldier, dazed and disoriented. It was short work. Caspar threw their weapons aside and grabbed both of the soldiers by the collars, shoving them into a corner. 

“I’m gonna make damn sure no filthy bastards like you ever lay a hand on the prince, you hear me?” Caspar yelled. The soldiers were speechless, blood running out of their mouths and covering their arms, where they had been cut by the shards on the floor. They were obviously not expecting a man shorter than them to possess such raw strength (even if he was the prince’s personal retainer.)

“W- we were… kidding,” the blonde man breathed. “Would you… l- lighten up?”

As much as Caspar loved the thrill of battle, he had never taken any pleasure in the pain of his opponents before. But seeing him sputtering blood out in between broken words gave him a strange, almost unnatural satisfaction. He was tempted to keep pummeling both of them, until all of the bones in their bodies had snapped beyond repair. Usually, the knight’s sense of justice was strong. Never did he do any more damage to an enemy than what was required. But now he felt a kind of anger that he’d never felt before, the kind that told him that they deserved all the pain he could possibly give them. The only thing holding him back was remembering his duty as a knight sworn to the prince.

“You sure as hell better run as far away from here as fast possible, because you won’t want to stay here for much longer.”

The two soldiers cowered, unable to respond. Caspar was satisfied.

The clinking sound of armor echoed through the hall outside, and a couple of knights burst into the room.

“Just in time, guys. Will you keep these bastards restrained while I report this to the Captain?” Caspar asked.

The knights nodded, and he ran to the knights’ quarters as fast as he could.

When Caspar got back to his room after he cleaned off the blood on his face, he shed his armor and flopped onto the small bed, exhausted and still seething with rage. He couldn’t get the words of the drunk soldiers out of his head. What they had said about Linhardt, what they wanted to do to him… it made him sick, and he didn’t care if they were joking or not. The pit in his stomach grew as he thought about how people like them had been living so close to the prince. How Linhardt wouldn’t be able to defend himself if they got their hands on him. How he wasn’t able to spot an issue like that earlier. But what made him more sick than anything was the guilt that rose in his stomach when he thought about his own feelings for Linhardt. He knew that he shouldn’t have let himself feel that way toward him. That he had already failed in his duty as the prince’s sworn knight. Was he really any better than those soldiers? Tears started to fall from his eyes, and he let them run onto his pillow, suppressing the urge to wail along with them. The anger that he felt back there had been different than anything he’d felt before. It was violent and untamed, and it all stemmed from his own feelings. A passion strong enough to tempt him to break his code of honor, and for the very man he swore it to. How had he managed to fail his life’s work so badly?  
For the first time in years, Caspar cried himself to sleep.

\---

“Lin, you’re far too old to still be holding Caspar’s hand all the time,” the queen said, casting her sharp gaze on the two young boys.

They were having afternoon tea, and now that they were twelve, Linhardt’s parents started to really buckle down on teaching them proper etiquette. 

“Why does it matter?” Linhardt asked, furrowing his brow.

“A prince and his retainer must keep a certain… professional distance,” his mother started to explain. “We wouldn’t want people to start getting the wrong idea, after all.”

There was an awkward pause as the words sunk in. 

“What do you mean, ‘wrong idea?’ Who cares if everyone knows we’re best buds?” Caspar shouted, stuffing a pastry into his mouth.

The queen gave him a look of stern disapproval. 

“I can hold his hand when I want to,” Linhardt huffed before his mother could say anything, squeezing Caspar’s hand tighter.

“Linhardt, you must understand that your father and I will have to select a new retainer for you if you keep up this sort of behavior,” she said, pouring tea into her cup.

They both pulled their hands back immediately, as if they had just touched a hot pan. The queen wasn’t one to jest, after all. 

The three sat in silence for the rest of the time, and the queen was satisfied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up having a little more angst than I orginally anticipated -_-


	3. Fake You Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Bernadetta von Varley experiences a range of emotions about her arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been well over a month since the last update. My apologies; school, writer's block, exhaustion, and Casphardt Week really came at me. I hope I can get the next update in with less of a wait. For now, please enjoy this chapter. Comments are greatly appreciated.

Princess Bernadetta von Varley was nervous. 

Perhaps “nervous” was an understatement. Anxiety was consuming her mind, seeming to eat it away slowly. “Terrified” might be a more suitable word to describe the way she felt when her father had announced that he had found her a possible suitor. Even worse, she was supposed to meet him in just two weeks. The knot in her stomach seemed to twist itself tighter every hour that passed.

Most princesses would look forward to meeting a prince. Bernadetta, however, wished she could crawl into a hole and never come out of it. Prince Linhardt von Hevring, her potential suitor, was the heir to one of the wealthiest kingdoms in all of Fodlan. Everything about the Hevring family and the kingdom for which they were named was associated with elegance and propriety. Even the prince’s _name_ sounded regal. She didn’t know what he looked like, but she was picturing him now in her head. Strong, handsome, athletic, and commanding, like most princes seemed to be. Complete with the piercing eyes of a ruler that would watch and make judgements on her every move. She would surely make a fool of herself under such an unnerving gaze. If she made even one mistake, the arrangement would fall through, and then she would have to face the wrath of her father.

The ruler of the Kingdom of Varley was a cruel and unforgiving man, and his wrath didn’t make any acceptions for his daughter. He saw Bernadetta only as a token for political gain, and raised her for the sole purpose of marrying her off to a powerful royal family. Since she was as young as five, he would do terrible things that were supposed to prepare her to be a “submissive wife” and an “ideal queen.” This supposed “preparation” involved tying her to a chair and locking her in a pitch-dark room for hours on end, as well as other cruel practices such as withholding food and water. The princess couldn’t see the king as a father, no matter how hard she tried. She hated herself for that; she was supposed to love him, wasn’t she? But how could she love a man who filled her with terror at the mere sight of him? Bernadetta wanted nothing more than to escape the king’s impossible standards and the wrath that came with her every slight. Ironically, fulfilling his wishes and getting married off would be the surest way to do that. But she couldn’t imagine how angry he would be if the arrangement fell through. And as much as she told herself that the thought was irrational, she couldn’t shake the fear that the man she would end up marrying would be just like her father: manipulative, ruthless, and uncompromising. Perhaps her entire life was fated to the exact same misery.

The journey from Varley to Hevring was a long four days. As much as Bernadetta wanted to enjoy the opportunity to travel somewhere outside of the few areas within the castle grounds she was allowed to be, her nerves protested. And the closer the ship got to the coast of Hevring, the deeper her anxieties grew. In fact, everyone on board thought she was seasick, as she couldn’t hold food down and she stayed below deck in her quarters most of the time. When they finally approached their destination, she was utterly exhausted.

The tight corset that the maids helped Bernadetta squeeze into didn’t help the sick feeling in her stomach. She hadn’t eaten the day before, but she would have surely vomited all over her ornate dress if she had. Her body was used to tight corsets and dresses that weighed as much as herself, but she could never get over the anxiety that came with the process of putting one on. Every time she had to dress up, it meant that she had to interact. And interaction meant that she’d make a mistake, and then her father— noticing that her thoughts were spiralling, Bernadetta attempted to steady her breathing. She tried to think about other things, like her stuffed animal collection back at home and the book she was writing in secret. Still, she didn’t understand why so much time had to be spent on her hair, makeup, and clothes before any sort of interaction. All it did was seem to box her in more. Rather than making her confident, it made her feel like a fragile china doll. One wrong move and she’d shatter, and then it would all be over. She was perfectly stiff as the knight assigned to guard her led her to the dining room.

The table was _much_ too large. The king of Hevring sat at the front of it, with his Queen on the left and Bernadetta’s own father on the right. The princess herself was sitting next to her father and directly across from her suitor. Her guard stood watch a good distance away, and it seemed that a stout knight with a shock of blue hair was doing the same for the prince. 

Prince Linhardt von Hevring looked… different than she had expected, to say the least. He was slender and very pale, with flowing green hair and big, droopy eyes. In fact, he looked quite frail, and certainly not sharp and alert like she had imagined. She couldn’t tell if he was attractive or not, either. His skin looked smooth and he had delicate features— he looked quite effeminate. Perhaps he could be described as pretty? Still, he looked a little odd to her. Maybe it was because of his distinctive facial features, or maybe it was because he looked absolutely nothing like she had expected. That didn’t make her any less nervous. Linhardt looked so relaxed compared to Bernadetta. She was stiff as a board, too scared to even pick up her fork in fear that she might drop it. The prince slouched in his seat and yawned frequently, taking small bites of his food and ignoring the glass of red wine in front of him. Just how was he so relaxed about this? The princess couldn’t stop herself from worrying about her every movement. She supposed that he _was_ the heir to one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the continent. And she or whoever he ended up with would be little more than a trophy wife, so he didn’t have to care that much. Princes really could do whatever they wanted, couldn’t they?

Linhardt didn’t start any conversations, and neither did Bernadetta. She was fine with that; talking was never her strong suit. Besides, she was too focused on not making any sort of mistake to hold a proper conversation, or even be very aware of what the prince was doing. In fact, it took a minute for her to notice that he was… sleeping? His stiff collar appeared to be the only thing keeping his head up. Was he _that_ uninterested? The princess started to panic internally. The arrangement would surely fall through if she couldn’t at least keep the prince’s attention! As she had a desperate mental debate over whether it would be worth it to try and start a conversation, the knight with the blue hair walked up to his chair and gently tapped him awake.

“Oh, Caspar. Why don’t you sit next to me, I’m quite bored.” Linhardt drawled, motioning at the chair next to him. The knight took him up on the offer, though he seemed a little uneasy. Bored? That was rather… straightforward. At least she could now succumb to her terrible fate…

“Linhardt,” said the firm voice of the king of Hevring. “You’re supposed to be getting to know the princess.”

The prince swirled the wine in his glass around, still not drinking. “Thank you for the helpful suggestion, but I don’t think that small talk will be necessary. Supposing that you’ll go through with the arrangement, I’ll have my whole life to get to know her.”

Her father tried to hide the shocked expressions on his face, but Bernadetta was relieved to hear that he didn’t seem _against_ getting arranged. Still, now that she was focusing more on him than herself, she found him peculiar. Linhardt had the vocabulary of a nobleman, but his nonchalant way of speaking made its propriety sound sarcastic. She wondered how he could get away with such casual behavior. Every insufferable noble she’d ever met at least tried to _pretend_ to be polite. Perhaps he simply wasn’t in the mood to talk? 

Bernadetta’s nerves twisted up again when the prince’s eyes narrowed at her.

“Hmmm,” he said, turning to Caspar and glancing at her from the side. “Most noblewomen haven’t been able to tolerate me up to this point in a meeting. Am I acting any different from usual? Or do you think the princess is just different from the rest?”

Caspar scratched the side of his head, bewildered. “Uh, I don’t think it’s you— hey, maybe the arrangement will work out this time?” he tried to force a smile.

The princess’s father lit up. “Oh, I see. I must admit, before now, I had found your son’s dismissive attitude to be abhorrent. But it was merely a test, after all! Surely, patience is an ideal quality for a suitable queen.”

“Oh, our son can be a little… eccentric,” the prince’s mother tried to laugh, but it came out hollow-sounding.

“Yes, he just _insists_ on performing this… _test_… with every woman he meets. My apologies. However, your daughter’s behavior truly is impeccable. Perhaps they will make a good fit after all.” the king continued, taking deep breaths as if he was trying very hard to keep his tone even.

Linhardt’s face twisted up into an odd expression that Bernadetta wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen before. She couldn’t tell if he wanted to snicker or scoff. Instead of doing either of those things, he picked up his wine glass, tilted his head back, and tipped it toward his lips as if to drink. Instead of reaching his mouth, however, the deep red liquid spilled all over his fine white shirt. He put the back of his hand on his forehead dramatically.

“Oh, how clumsy of me— it appears that I’ve stained my shirt. Though it’s a pity, it would be _quite_ improper of me to be in the company of so elegant a princess looking like _this_. If you don’t mind, Caspar and I will excuse ourselves.” Linhardt, without waiting for a response, promptly walked out of the room. His baffled retainer hesitated a bit before following.

Bernadetta had never been more confused in her life. Linhardt’s parents appeared to have shared the sentiment.

“I’m sorry about my son’s… clumsiness. I assure you, he isn’t usually so careless.” the king said as soon as he could.

The princess’s father just smiled. “No apologies required. In fact, I think this son of yours would be a good fit for my daughter. Why don’t we go through with the arrangement?”

Bernadetta didn’t quite know how to process all that had happened now that she was back in her own room at the castle. She had no idea whether to feel relieved, confused, concerned, or flat-out uneasy. At least she was in her nightgown and not in 50 pounds of corset and petticoats and makeup. And it was much easier to think in the privacy of her room.

The princess she couldn’t sleep, so she decided to light a candle at her desk and write in her journal. She didn’t really know where to start with everything weighing on her mind. First there was her father. Since he’d agreed with the king of Hevring to arrange her to Linhardt, he’d been acting a lot kinder. He praised her for the first time in years, and even made sure the cooks prepared her favorite dinner. And then there was… well, the person she was betrothed to. She didn’t know what to make of him. He had dismissed her the entire time, and she had a feeling he wasn’t putting on a “test.” And then he spilled wine on himself so he could leave early? At least, she assumed the action was deliberate. Did she do something wrong, or just bore him to the brink of death? If it was the latter, then it’s not like she had another option. Her father raised her to be perfect. And perfect meant being still, quiet, pretty… empty. It meant being boring. She was taught that noblemen _liked_ boring. At least they _pretended_ to like it. The whole thing felt so fabricated. Would she be nothing more than this for the rest of her life? Nothing more than a cute little doll to look good on the arm of someone bolder than herself? 

Helpless. That’s what she was raised to be, that’s what she was, and that’s what she’d always be. But what did it matter? It’s not like she didn’t already know.

\---

Caspar had expected to find Linhardt in the library. What he hadn’t expected was to find him shaking in the corner, face buried in his hands.

“Lin?”

The boy didn’t answer. Instead, he pretended to snore.

“I know you’re awake, silly.”

“Cas, just… please leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone? Of course not! I may just be a little kid, but I’ve promised to protect you. Now who hurt you? I’ll beat ‘em up!” The energetic boy pumped a small fist in the air, and the young prince looked up.

“No one hurt me, Caspar.”

“Then why are you crying?” 

Linhardt wiped his eyes and looked down into his lap. “My father… he took away my books. The ones about biology, and astronomy, and strange creatures. He said that it’s all trivial and irresponsible, and that they’re distracting me from my studies. I can’t find them here in the library.”

“But you like that stuff! I don’t even know what biology _is_, but it sounds important.”

“It _is_ important, Cas. At least it is to me. But according to my father, it’s all impractical, useless— I need to read about politics and etiquette and whatever limited range of topics that are suitable for a prince. And then I told him that I don’t even _want_ to be a prince, and he grabbed all of my books and carried them away into his study. And that was it.”

Caspar plopped down right next to Linhardt and took his hand, squeezing it tightly. “Tell me about all of your science stuff, and I’ll tell you if it’s useless or whatever.”

“You’re only nine years old, Caspar, how would _you_ know if something’s impractical?” Linhardt frowned.

“I dunno. Tell me about it anyway. I might not understand all of it, but I wanna hear all about it. And then I can show you how to use a sword! And pretty soon I’ll be as smart as you and you’ll be as strong as me and we’ll be unstoppable, and then your dad will surely recognize how great you are!”

The young prince smiled, and then burst into laughter. “I don’t think these things work like that, but I suppose we can try it anyway.”

Caspar may not have understood most of what Linhardt told him about, but he sure loved hearing his voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm excited to have Bernadetta be a major character in this story! I hope you enjoy seeing her grow and develop as this continues.
> 
> Thanks a lot for reading, don't forget to leave kudos if you enjoyed!


	4. Composure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As soon as he stepped out into the hall with Caspar, Linhardt started to laugh hysterically. He didn’t care about the way it echoed through the halls or if his family could hear it through the door— he had just pulled a bad enough stunt anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this one took so long to put out. I hope you enjoy it regardless!

As soon as he stepped out into the hall with Caspar, Linhardt started to laugh hysterically. He didn’t care about the way it echoed through the halls or if his family could hear it through the door— he had just pulled a bad enough stunt anyway. Besides, he could hardly control it. Perhaps it was because of how utterly ridiculous his situation was, or how foolish his father was acting, or that he never really had much to laugh about in the castle in the first place. Regardless, it was the most hilarious experience he’d had in years.

“Are you okay, Lin?” Caspar asked when his laughter went on just a little too long. He wasn’t laughing with him. In fact, his expression was quite concerned.

Linhardt’s mirth stopped as he turned to look at his retainer. “This whole thing really is a joke, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” Caspar asked, genuinely puzzled.

“A _test?_ From where in the world did those fools pull that idea from? Actually, I don’t want to know— I can only imagine the extent of the stupidity I’d be exposed to were I to find out. And then my father just goes along with it! Seiros bless me; royalty is such a painfully obvious act.”

The knight scratched his head. “They seemed to really want this arrangement to work, don’t you think?” 

“Sothis, that’s an understatement. They’re all so _desperate!_” Linhardt tried to laugh a little more, but it came out hollow.

“Don’t _you_ want to get married though?”

“What does it matter? I’m sure I’ve doomed this arrangement anyway. After all, no one likes a careless prince…” he trailed off as he held out his silk shirt, which was stained red beyond fixing.

“C’mon, Lin. Let’s grab you a new shirt.” Caspar said, tugging lightly at the prince’s arm. “I really don’t understand you, you know.”

“Thank you for agreeing to have tea with me, Caspar.” Linhardt paused to put a pastry in his mouth. “It’s nice to have some time away from royal imbeciles.”

“Isn’t that a little harsh, Lin? These are _kings_ you’re talking about.” Caspar was evidently still confused, but Linhardt found it kind of cute, so he didn’t bother to elucidate anything.

“Oh well,” The prince felt his eyes drooping and yawned. “This parlor’s so peaceful. I think I could just fall asleep right here.”

Any plans for napping ended quite quickly as soon as he heard a knock at the door.

“Linhardt!” the voice of the queen called, uncharacteristically cheerful. “I have some good news for you!” The tall woman walked into the parlor, the frills of her dress and her long green hair trailing behind her along with a couple of guards.

The prince sighed dramatically. “I’m enjoying my break with Caspar, mother. I’m sure that whatever this is can wait.”

“It can’t wait, in fact,” she said, ignoring her son’s attitude. “And regardless, I’m certain you’ll want to hear this.”

Linhardt felt something in his stomach twist. Usually, what his mother considered “good” news was terrible news for himself. “Well then, what is it?” 

The queen smiled brightly. “Your father and I have agreed with the king of Varley to go through with the arrangement!” 

The world seemed to fade around him. There was no way this was happening after the stunt he had just pulled. Could this possibly be the true extent of his parent’s desperation to get him married? He didn’t want to believe it.

“That’s awesome, Linhardt!” Caspar cheered. He heard it only distantly over his overflowing thoughts, so he didn’t pick up on the strain in his voice.

“Linhardt, are you feeling alright?” The queen looked at her son, who hadn’t said a word since her announcement.

The prince pulled himself out of his chair. “I— I’m just tired. I think I need to be excused.” The prince turned towards the door and nearly stumbled out of the parlor, leaving Caspar and the queen to share concerned looks.

Back in his room, Linhardt was seething. It had taken him a while to accept the fact that the arrangement actually went though, and now that he had, he didn’t know how to feel anything but bitterness. The prince knew full well that this would happen eventually. But he was _sure_ that he could put it off long enough for him to find some sort of escape. Now, with mere months to his supposed wedding and weeks to a ball to announce it to the world— what was he supposed to do about that? It felt like someone had locked a door behind him, forcing him into a life that he had tried so long to put off. The reality that he would soon marry and ascend to the throne seemed to fall on him as hard and sudden as a load of bricks.

Like he usually did when he wanted to forget about reality for a while, Linhardt tried to fall asleep. Strangely enough, it didn’t come easy for him this time around. He kept thinking about Caspar, the man he’d idly daydream of a life with— he hadn’t realized how detailed this fantasy had become until now. They would live as commoners; carefree and relaxed. He would read in their little house and tend to a garden while Caspar went to work, and when he returned home, he would fall asleep in his strong arms. The thought of spending a life with someone other than him almost made him sick. Would his life even be worth living without Caspar by his side?”

_“How melodramatic,”_ Linhardt thought. _“Did I really let it get this bad?”_

The prince’s train of thought was shaken when he heard a knock on his door.

“Go away, please. I’m going to bed early.”

“My apologies, Your Highness, but His Majesty requests your presence.” he heard the voice of a guard slightly muffled through the door. “Sir Caspar is here to escort you.”

Linhardt made sure to mess up his hair even more and practiced a scowl in the mirror to display his annoyance to his father. When Caspar greeted him at the door, he wasn’t smiling brightly like usual— it was a more mellow grin this time.

“Want me to carry you?” Caspar laughed— Linhardt vaguely noted that it sounded a bit strained.

“No, not this time.” Linhardt dismissed. Caspar’s face fell immediately, and the two didn’t say a word to each other the rest of the way down the hall.

“We will be hosting a ball to celebrate your engagement to Princess Bernadetta von Varley next month,” the king tapped his fingers on his desk idly. “You will be sharing the first dance with her, so I will be doubling your dance instruction until the day of the ball.”

Linhardt groaned. “I know how to dance, father.”

“You couldn’t even hold a glass at the dinner yesterday.” The king gave him a stern glare. “I will _not_ let you embarrass our family— our kingdom— further.

The prince rolled his eyes. He thought he’d made it quite obvious that the action was theatric— although he supposed his father knew that, but chose to believe it wasn’t. 

“So, I will dance with the princess to show the whole world that we’re engaged. How _exciting_. Do you think _she’s_ as eager as I am?”

Would Bernadetta even enjoy the dance? If Linhardt was being honest, he didn’t even really remember what she looked like. She had purple hair, longer in the back. That was about it. The only other thing he knew about her was that she wasn’t much of a talker. She seemed to be nervous by the way she was sitting so rigidly, so perhaps she was shy. He had a feeling she wasn’t too keen on dancing either, but he decided to keep his mouth shut.

The king ignored his son’s sarcasm. “There will be many important families attending. I expect you to be on your best behavior. Think of this as practice for the wedding.”

“Practice,” Linhardt repeated, tapping his chin. “Very well, _Your Majesty._”

“Why must this engagement process be so _exhausting?_” Linhardt whined to Caspar on the walk back to his room. “A ball seems so overboard just to make an announcement. And that’s not even considering the actual wedding— I hear there’s already preparations being made for it.”

“It could be fun,” Caspar shrugged. “I bet there’ll be plenty of food.”

“And dancing, socializing, expending energy… just about everything I _don’t_ like.”

“Aww Lin, expending energy isn’t that bad. Besides, you’ll get to spend time with the Princess— her name was Bernadetta, right?” Caspar forced a small laugh.

“What would be so fun about that? Something tells me that she’s not one for conversation.”

“Oh! I mean, I thought you might like to since you’re getting… married to her and all—”

“Let’s not talk about that right now,” the prince interrupted. “I’m getting tired just thinking about it.”

For once, Linhardt couldn’t gauge the emotion on Caspar’s face. Was it confusion? Disappointment? Embarrassment?

“Well, we’re at your room, so I guess you wouldn’t have had to talk much about it anyway.” the knight said, having stopped in front of his door.

“Caspar,” Linhardt paused for a moment, watching his face perk up a little at the use of his name. “Why don’t we have tea right now?”

The knight frowned, scratching the back of his head. “I— I can’t right now. I’m sorry.”

Linhardt turned his head to the door so Caspar wouldn’t see the disappointment on his face. “Very well then,” he said as he walked through the door and closed it behind him.

Over the next few weeks, everyone in the castle was busily preparing for the ball. Everyone except Linhardt, of course, who tried to avoid it at all costs. He spent most of his time sleeping, resolving that because he could no longer keep postponing life, he might as well sleep his way out of it. Still, he had to deal with a stream of tailors getting his measurements and exhausting dance instruction (he feigned illness a few times to get out of it.) He hadn’t been seeing Caspar very often. Maybe that was a good thing; he didn’t think he could bear to see him smiling and talking about how he’s excited for the food at the ball— the ball. Why did everyone care about it so much? He didn’t understand why other nobles came to these types of events in the first place, save for keeping up appearances. And there were few things Linhardt loathed more than keeping up appearances. He wondered if Bernadetta was dreading this as much as he was. She seemed timid and shy; certainly not the kind of person who enjoyed being the center of attention. He doubted she was even interested in the first place— her father was obviously selfish and overbearing, probably at least as desperate to get her married off as his own parents were. Of course, considering she hadn’t reacted at all to his indifference, she was certainly an unusual case. Perhaps the ball would at least give him an opportunity to investigate.

“Your Highness, it’s time for dinner. Would you like to come down, or would you prefer me to bring it up for you?” 

Linhardt heard the voice of the maid through the door, pulling him out of a hazy, not-quite slumber. “Where has Caspar been?” he asked, ignoring her inquiry.

“Sir Caspar… I believe he has been dedicating himself to his training lately. Perhaps he will be at the dining hall?”

“Very well then, I’ll come down.”

The prince did not find his retainer at dinner, so he decided to slip away to check the training grounds. That was where he assumed Caspar usually spent his time when he wasn’t by his side, although he hadn’t been there in months.

“Your Highness, where are you off to?” a knight asked when she caught him slipping through the door. 

Linhardt huffed, making his annoyance clear. “The training grounds, to find Caspar.” 

The knight gave him an apologetic look. “Please, let me escort you. Us knights aren’t permitted to let you roam around alone.”

Not in the mood to argue, he let her lead the way to the training grounds. He had always wondered why it was necessary to have someone accompany him whenever he wanted to move about. It didn’t seem like much of a hassle when his escort was Caspar, but it became an obvious pain when it was anyone else. He liked to entertain the thought that he would’ve run away from the castle long ago had he not been under such close and constant scrutiny, but being honest with himself, he would have only done so if Caspar would go with him. He doubted he had many skills that would be useful for surviving out on his own, much less enough energy to do so. Running away with Caspar; an entertaining if not painfully unrealistic fantasy. He’d need help if he’d ever hope to pull it off— and he wouldn’t find that inside the castle. Perhaps outside, but then again, what motivation would someone have to help a prince run off and leave his kingdom to do what it will? There were far too many risks involved.

When Linhardt arrived at the training grounds, he immediately remembered why he didn’t visit them very often. Seeing Casar topless and sweat-soaked, muscles contracting with every swing of his training sword, didn’t do wonders to help him forget about his unfortunate feelings. He coughed in an effort to suppress the choked noise the rose in his throat. The intense, focused look on Caspar’s face broke at the sound, and he immediately dropped his training sword to wave at Linhardt.

“Lin! You haven’t been here in a while!”

“An astute observation, Caspar. Is your spending all your time here why I haven’t seen you all week?”

The knight furrowed his brow. “You didn’t leave your room for a few days, so I thought you needed time alone.”

Linhardt sat down on a bench and patted the space beside him. “Come, sit down. I’d like to talk to you for a bit.”

As soon as Caspar sat down, the prince suddenly felt that he was entirely too close. He turned his head quickly to hide his blush. “Shirt on, please.” 

“Oh!” Caspar grabbed his tunic from the cupboards and slipped it on. “Sorry,”

“Caspar, I know you’re dedicated when it comes to training. But don’t you think you’ve been going overboard these past weeks?” Linhardt asked, regaining his composure.

“All the knights are training extra hard right now,” Caspar said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

“You only train this much when something’s bothering you, so tell me honestly: Why haven’t I seen you lately?”

“Lin, I’m sorry. It’s just so weird, with you getting married, and how that’ll change everything—”

Linhardt raised an eyebrow. “And how would my marriage change things between us?”

“Ugh! I don’t know, it’s just gonna be strange because I’m like, your only friend and you’re my only friend and now there’ll be this other person that’s gonna get close to you. I know it’s stupid, but I like the way we are now.”

“So you’re jealous?” Linhardt teased, gauging his reaction.

Caspar blushed deeply. “No! I mean, Bernadetta is pretty and all, but I don’t really know her! She’s all yours!”

The prince wondered how his retainer could be so impossibly dense, but he decided not to press it. 

“I know about as much about her as you do. I promise, I won’t let my betrothed affect our friendship.” The word “friendship” tasted bitter as he said it. Romantic or not, mere friendship couldn’t have been enough to describe their bond. 

Caspar tried to smile as he looked up, though the look his eyes didn’t match the sentiment. “Thanks, Linhardt. I shouldn’t have been worried in the first place.”

Though Linhardt knew that Caspar wasn’t telling him the full truth, he decided to let him keep his secrets. He had plenty of his own, after all.

\---

“C’mon, Lin! It’s not _that_ heavy!”

Linhardt had reluctantly joined Caspar in a training session, and he didn’t think he’d ever been so worn out in all of his seventeen years of existence. 

“Perhaps I’m simply not worthy of this legendary blade,” the prince yawned, kicking away the wooden training sword and redoing his ponytail. “Oh well. I’m off for a nap.”

“Wait! Why don’t you stay a little longer? I’ll take a break right now, okay?”

“Fine, fine.” Linhardt said. He took a place on a bench shaded by an apple tree and gently plucked one of the fruits off to give to Caspar.

“Thanks, Linhardt!” the squire smiled as he took the apple from his hand. He took a large bite, juice dribbling from his mouth as he chewed.

“That bite was half the apple. You shouldn’t eat so fast— choking on a fruit doesn’t sound like a very knightly way to die.”

“It’ll be fine, you worrywart. Besides, I need all the nutrients I can get. Man, did I work up a sweat!” Caspar pulled off his shirt as he said this, tossing it aside. “Ah, that feels better.”

Linhardt felt his cheeks flushing as red as the apples on the tree. It’s not like he hadn’t seen his best friend topless before, but it was usually from a distance while he was watching him pulverize a training dummy. Right now he was so _close_, and he couldn’t believe how so much muscle was packed into such a small frame.

“You okay, bud?” the squire asked, noticing the prince’s shocked expression.

Linhardt took a deep breath. “My apologies. I thought I had seen a wasp, but I believe it’s gone now.”

Caspar didn’t question the white lie, so he decided not to add to it.

“You know, it’s crazy to think that I’ll officially be your knight in just four years,” the squire said in between bites of his apple. “I’ve been working all my life to get this far. That’s why I always train so hard!”

“I admire your tenacity. If I were the one running things, I would make you my knight right now.”

A pale pink dusted Caspar’s cheeks. “For real?”

Linhardt pulled himself off the bench and grabbed the training sword. Facing his best friend, who was still sitting down on the bench, he lightly tapped both of his shoulders with the dull edge. “I dub thee Sir Caspar von Bergliez.” The prince said dramatically before dropping the sword.

Caspar was really blushing now. “Is that even… I mean, that can’t be official.”

“It’s official enough for me,” Linhardt grinned. “Oh! I think I’m supposed to give you some kind of insignia.” he fished out a small charm from his pocket. “My mother gave me this for my birthday a while back, but I’ve never really had a use for it. Consider it yours.”

“It’s so pretty, Linhardt!” Caspar hugged his best friend, who leaned into him to hide his blush. “I promise that I’ll fight for you to the very end!” 

“No need for promises. I know you will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give special thanks to my friend casualbird for their help and support!
> 
> Also!!! I've created a Carrd with links to my Twitter, curious cat, Tumblr, etc! Check it out!  
https://crownshyness.carrd.co/


	5. Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ball that would announce Prince Linhardt von Hevring’s engagement was fast approaching, and Caspar shoved down the sick feeling in his stomach that arose at its prospect by training relentlessly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I actually got this one up in a reasonable amount of time. I hope you enjoy reading!

The ball that would announce Prince Linhardt von Hevring’s engagement was fast approaching, and Caspar shoved down the sick feeling in his stomach that arose at its prospect by training relentlessly. He swung his sword so many times that it became automatic. He decimated the population of training dummies on the grounds with his pulverizing blows. He sparred with anyone who was willing until they were wrestled to the ground. The pain that flared up in the muscles when he pushed himself to the limit was the only thing that seemed to be able to take his mind off of Linhardt. Even so, it wasn’t easy. Especially after their conversation the other day, in which he admitted that he was anxious about how their relationship would be affected once his best friend was married. Though the prince concluded that he was worrying about nothing, something he’d said had been repeating in Caspar’s mind incessantly for days:

_“So you’re jealous?”_

Jealous. He wished he could laugh at the thought, but he was pretty sure Linhardt knew that he had no interest in Bernadetta, so why would he even ask that question in the first place? Maybe he was teasing him— the little grin on his face during the conversation would make it seem that way. But something about the way he said it that hit a little too close to home. Could jealousy be the name of the sour feeling in hit gut? Not of Linhardt, but of the princess? No— the prince couldn’t have possibly meant _that_ when he posed the question. It was just a joke, nothing more. Besides, he was happy for Linhardt! Not considering the fact that he was in no position to feel otherwise, of course. Rationally, he knew the prince was right: he was worrying over nothing. Marriage was something they both knew would happen eventually, and there was no reason it should affect their relationship. Perhaps guilt was what was making his stomach feel twisted up— guilt for having thought of Linhardt as anything less that a prince, someone who could be his friend even before his liege.

Guilt was certainly a feeling that had been weighing heavy on Caspar’s heart since the _incident_ a few weeks prior. The thought of anyone taking advantage of Linhardt in the way the now-exiled soldiers described made his blood boil. Waves of anger coursed through his body when he recalled what they had said, drunken words laced with mirth and malice. Caspar could get violent when it came to the battlefield, but he’d never felt quite as _ruthless_ as he had when he heard their conversation. Still, when all was said and done, all of his anger faded into a guilty feeling at his core, bitter and almost dizzying. He shouldn’t have let himself fall in love with Linhardt. He shouldn’t have imagined kissing or touching him even for a second. He shouldn’t have imagined being anything other to him than his knight. If he’d just kept his proper distance, none of this would’ve happened. Now he was barely any better than the drunk soldiers, and it was all his fault, because he still couldn’t control the _yearning_ that came over him every time he was with the prince.

The other knights weren’t oblivious to Caspar’s unusually gloomy demeanor. He didn’t talk much during meals, and when he did, his tone lacked its usual warmth. The energy and laughter that he usually brought to the conversation was absent. And his perpetual scowl was highly out of character for a man who was usually so friendly and boisterous.

“He’s been paranoid since we banished those two castle soldiers,” he’d overheard another knight say in the mess hall. “Apparently, they wanted to take advantage of the prince.”

“Do you know what they said?” the female knight next to him gasped.

“No idea, but I wouldn’t ask Caspar about it. Might strike a nerve, and I sure as hell don’t want to get’ m angry. The kid’s a beast— took both of ‘em out in a minute tops.”

Sure enough, the other warriors had been keeping their distance. On one hand, he was relieved that no one had asked him what was wrong, because he wouldn’t know how to answer them. On the other, he didn’t like the idea of his allies _fearing_ him. He had thought he was on friendly terms with all of the knights, so shouldn’t they understand that he would never hurt anyone who was innocent? Well, he supposed he’d never seen his ruthless side either. Didn’t make him feel any better, though.

When Linhardt stepped out of his room on the evening of the ball, Caspar had a hard time tearing his eyes away. The prince was dressed up in his newly tailored outfit, clean and wonderfully immaculate. His jacket was a subdued blue shade that matched his eyes, with exquisite golden cuffs and buttons. The matching vest underneath was embroidered with swirling gold patterns, perhaps meant to emulate vines and leaves. His hair was done up elegantly, with two small braids meeting in the back and leaving the rest to drape over his shoulders. It looked so clean and silky that Caspar had to ignore the urge to run his hand through it. Everything about Linhardt looked absolutely gorgeous, and for a moment all Caspar could think about was how _unfair_ it was. Who wouldn’t fall for someone as beautiful as _him?_

“Is there something wrong?” Linhardt asked, seeing the gawked expression on his retainer’s face. 

Realizing that his mouth was hanging open like an idiot, Caspar tried to think of an explanation for his reaction. _“No, there’s absolutely nothing wrong, except that it’s impossible for someone to be this perfect,”_ he was tempted to say. Instead, he shook his head. “N— no, sorry. I was just surprised to see you in your new outfit! I forgot that you got one tailored for this.”

Linhardt looked down and pulled at his sleeve, as if examining the detail on the cuffs. “Seems a bit extravagant to get a whole new suit for a single event, does it not?”

“Maybe. But you look good,” Caspar managed.

A faint tinge of color rose on the prince’s cheeks. “Oh? You do, too.”

Caspar looked down, partly to hide his blush and partly to examine his getup. His burgundy suit wasn’t nearly as impressive as the one Linhardt wore, and the frustrating cravat took him _way_ too long to put into place correctly. The thin sword that hung at his belt was mostly for decoration and didn’t make him feel any more at ease. And he had to comb through his hair in a way that he only wore for formal events because he thought it made him look stupid.

“Ha, nothing too fancy, is it? To be honest, I kinda feel ridiculous in this,” he smiled sheepishly and scratched the back of his head.

“I think it suits you just fine,” said Linhardt. “Must be nice not to have to wear armor for a while.”

“I guess so,” Caspar smiled, even though it made him feel more vulnerable than anything else. “Oh, I think we need to start heading down right now. Let’s have some fun, okay?”

Linhardt yawned, putting a small hand to his mouth. “I’m already bored just thinking about it.”

Princess Bernadetta’s gown was exquisite. Evidently designed to stand out, the golden fabric shined brilliantly under the light of the many chandeliers that hung over the ballroom. Even so, Caspar could only stare at Linhardt the entire time she danced with him. His stomach lurched when they leaned in close to each other, but he couldn’t look away. The dance was perfect; so precise that it almost seemed automated. Linhardt may have loathed dancing, but he was good at it. Years of mandatory instruction had made his movements graceful, if not a little stiff as a consequence of his reluctance. The same could be said for Bernadetta, who didn’t seem to be any more emotionally invested in the dance than her partner was. Caspar supposed that these kinds of dances were supposed to have just a little more individuality to them, but then again, formal things had never been his forte. He remembered how he would occasionally attend dance instruction with Linhardt when they were kids. They didn’t last more than a minute when they tried to dance with each other, both of them stubborn and resistant. As he got older and started attending dance instruction with the other squires and knights, he started to loosen up about it and even enjoy it to some extent. In fact, he considered himself a decent dancer now that he’d grown up. He found himself wondering what it would be like to dance with Linhardt now, with all the skills they had both learned over the years.

When Linhardt and Bernadetta finally broke off and allowed others to join in with the dancing, Caspar turned away and headed toward the back of the room. If he saw the prince dancing with even one more person, he was sure his heart would burst. Maybe it _was_ jealousy that he was feeling after all. He wished that _he_ was the one in Linhardt’s arms, hand draped lightly at his waist, pulling him in close— no! He couldn’t let himself think like that, especially when he was going to get married!

“Excuse me, are you feeling under the weather?” asked an unfamiliar voice. “Or are you just not in the mood to dance?”

Caspar turned around to see a tall man with flowing red hair and an amiable smile. He held a glass of wine in his hand and wore a suit that was extravagant enough to seem almost over the top. 

“Uh, do I know you?” Caspar asked, bluntly.

The red-haired stranger seemed momentarily shocked by his lack of formality, but he quickly regained his composure. “My apologies, I must introduce myself. I am Ferdinand von Aegir, the legitimate heir to my kingdom’s throne,” his voice swelled with pride at his introduction, and Caspar got the feeling that he loved saying it. “And who might you be?”

“I’m Caspar— I mean, I’m Sir Caspar von Bergliez.” the knight stuttered a little, not quite sure how to talk in front of another kingdom’s royal, especially one with such regal decorum. 

“Ah, House Bergliez. I’ve heard much of their military prowess. It’s only fitting that you’d be a knight,” he tapped his finger on his chin. “Say, are you the heir to the estate?”

At this point, Caspar was starting to get annoyed. Why was this guy so concerned with his status? Did most princes care about that? Linhardt didn’t seem to. “Actually, I’m a second son. If you’re looking for my brother, you’re not gonna find him here.”

“In that case, what brings you to such an event?” Despite his words, Ferdinand’s tone seemed more curious than snobbish. Caspar wondered if he was aware of the way he was coming off.

“I’m Prince Linhardt von Hevring’s personal retainer,” he answered, showing his insignia. “Sorry if you were expecting someone else.”

“Oh, no!” Ferdinand gasped. “I didn’t intend to give you such an impression. It is truly an honor to meet such an accomplished knight! And to serve Hevring’s prince so directly— that on its own must be a testament to your skill.” 

Caspar shrugged, supposing that he seemed good-natured enough for him to overlook his pompous attitude. “Hey, speaking of the prince, have you seen him anywhere? I lost him after he finished the first dance.”

“I’m afraid I have not. Perhaps you’ll catch sight of him on the dance floor?”

“Oh, no, I’m not dancing tonight!”

“Caspar, my friend, I’m positive that plenty of lovely ladies are waiting for the opportunity to dance with a knight such as yourself. Come now, the next song will start soon!” Ferdinand handed his still-full glass to a nearby servant and dragged the knight with him onto the dance floor.

“Will you have this dance?” Ferdinand asked a lovely young woman who had just broken off from her previous partner. As they settled into the groove, he looked over at Caspar. “Go on, ask someone before it’s too late!”

A young woman nearby waved at him shyly, and he figured he may as well dance with her. “Will you, er, have this dance?” he asked her awkwardly. The girl didn’t seem to care; she was blushing as she got into position. He looked over at Ferdinand, who gave him a reassuring smile before vanishing into the crowd. He hadn’t done an actual dance in a while, so his movements started out clunky. Thankfully, the girl just seemed glad to be dancing. The song ended just when he started getting comfortable with the movements. Giggling, the young woman switched partners, and Caspar was swept up into another dance as quickly as it had gone.

It was only after Caspar was properly disoriented from what seemed like hours of twisting around that he was finally able to escape the crowd and catch his breath. Dancing certainly wore him out more quickly than training did. Acting all “proper” around all those nobles was exhausting. It was no wonder why Linhardt didn’t concern himself too much with decorum. Speaking of Linhardt, it was just Caspar’s luck that he would find him _after_ he had gone to the trouble of venturing onto the dance floor to find him. The prince was coming toward him as he skirted the edge of the crowd, looking pale and fatigued.

“Linhardt!” the knight called, waving his arm up high. “Are you okay? You look pale— I mean, even paler than usual!”

“There’s _far_ too many people here,” Linhardt responded as he approached. “I need some fresh air.”

“Let me take you to the balcony, then,” Caspar suggested. His heart skipped a beat when the prince took his arm to steady himself as they made their way out.

Even without torchlight, the full moonlight was bright enough to see by, casting a silvery glow on the castle’s outer walls. Now that the two were alone, the clamor of the ball had faded into faint echoes of chatter behind them.

“Your hair looks ridiculous when it’s combed like that,” Linhardt teased, reaching his hand up to ruffle through Caspar’s hair. “There, that’s much better.”

The knight didn’t really hear him, though, because Linhardt’s touch sent the blood roaring in his ears. His cheeks burned crimson as the moment replayed in his mind. There’s one more thing he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about.

Linhardt raised an eyebrow. “Cas?”

“Oh!” he snapped himself out of his daze. “Sorry, I zoned out for a minute there.”

“It’s fine,” the prince yawned.

“Are you tired, Linhardt? I can look after you if you wanna take a little nap on the bench— I know how much these things wear you out,” Caspar offered gently.

“I am, but I don’t want to fall asleep just yet. There’s too much on my mind...” Linhardt’s sentence trailed off as he walked up to the edge of the balcony and tilted his head up toward the night sky. Caspar joined him, staring up at the brilliant array of constellations.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” Caspar asked, trying to think about _anything_ other than the way the moonlight shone on the prince’s hair. 

“Hmmm…” Linhardt paused, putting the words together in his mind. “When I was seven or eight, I asked my parents for a small telescope for my birthday,” he began, gaze still fixed upward. “I got a new suit and a book on politics instead.”

“Huh?” Caspar furrowed his brow, confused.

Linhardt laughed softly. “I suppose it’s a silly thing to remember, but it was the first time that I realized that my parents were raising me to run a kingdom, and nothing else.”

“Oh, right,” the knight nodded to show his understanding.

“I just… don’t understand all this,” he continued. All my life I was raised to be a ruler. To bear the responsibility of an entire kingdom on my shoulders. To marry a gorgeous noblewoman and produce an heir to repeat the same process all over again. It just seems so… pointless.”

“Pointless?”

“Yes, pointless. Every history book I’ve ever read has shown that it’s the same dull cycle over and over again. And what does it even amount to? Most rulers are selfish pricks; spilling blood over gold trinkets and petty squabbles. I don’t want any part in that. All I want to do is live a life that’s my own, unrestricted by the expectations of my parents… or a kingdom.” Linhardt sighed, tilting his head downward. “It’s quite ironic that I have everything one could ask for save the things I actually _want._ It sounds ungrateful, I know, but such are the musings of one who’s been spoiled rotten their whole life.” 

Caspar could see the sadness in his eyes as he turned to face the prince. “I don’t think that sounds ungrateful.”

“Oh?” Linhardt tapped his chin as if deep in thought. “Most would beg to differ. There are so many people who envy my position, so why in the name of the Goddess did it have to fall upon _me?_"

“You don’t want to be a prince?” Caspar asked, even though he knew what the answer was.

Linhardt laughed in a way that didn’t carry any warmth. “A prince just might be the last thing I want to be. There’s no escaping it for me, though,” 

The knight shivered as he felt the prince’s hand lace through his own slowly, just like they did when they were children.

“Don’t you ever wish to be free, Caspar? To see the world beyond the kingdom? Pursue your own interests? Nap when you want to?” 

He thought for a second, caught off guard by the sudden question. He supposed he _did_ daydream about adventuring often, (not as often as he daydreamed about Linhardt, but he could hardly admit that to himself) and he’d always wondered what it was like outside of Hevring. Still, he’d never for a second legitimately considered leaving the prince's side.

“I guess that would be nice. I don’t care about napping though,” he managed. 

“Well then, someday, I’ll let you go. As soon as I become king and have the power to do so, I’ll set you free. I’ll send you off with all the gold you could ever need, and you can live your life the way you want to.”

“What!” Caspar gasped. The expression on his face could only be described as pure shock. “You don’t want me to be your knight anymore? Am I— am I not good enough?”

“You misunderstand, Caspar. You’re _more_ than ‘good enough’. In fact, you’re far too good to be serving an indolent, disagreeable royal like me for the rest of your life.” Linhardt gave him a small, sad smile.

“No!” Caspar exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I don’t ever want to leave your side. Ever. If I ever travel the world, it’ll be with you!” a rush of adrenaline surged through him as he slowly lifted the prince’s delicate hand up close to his lips. “May I?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Linhardt, who was now the one in shock, gasped. 

Caspar kissed his hand gently, brushing his lips over his soft fingers. “I’ll never leave your side, my prince.”

Linhardt sighed, smiling softly. “I thought that might be your answer. But tell me, are you sure? Your life will only be dull and miserable if you choose to stay by my side. I may be selfish, but I can’t in good conscience let someone so dear to me face that kind of future without a choice in the matter.”

Caspar felt like his heart was threatening to pound it’s way out of his chest. “Being a knight is all I know how to do, and I’ve loved it ever since I was a little kid. This is the life I want— I’ll keep protecting you until I die. I already promised that at my accolade, remember?” his eyes burned with the flare of determination similar to the one that came out when he was training.

“Yes, I remember. I suppose you’ve made your choice, then. And I can’t pretend that I’m not happy about the one you chose.” Linhardt wrapped his arms around his retainer, pulling him in tightly. “Thank you, Caspar. No one in the world could possibly replace you.”

The two stayed in each other’s embrace for just a little too long before breaking away.

When the ball was done and Caspar finally put his head on his pillow, he was thoroughly exhausted. It seemed as if the strain of all his training over the past few weeks was hitting him all at once. Or maybe it was just Linhardt. His heart was still pounding from when he’d embraced him. He was almost relieved when Linhardt was called back to have a word with the princess, because he was starting to worry that his knees would give out. It was now painfully evident how long it had been since Linhardt had last hugged him like that, and even more so how much he wanted to do it again and maybe hold on forever this time. There were some nights that Caspar couldn’t find the energy to ignore his desire for the prince, and this was one of them. He always hoped that dreaming about him would at least temper his feelings when the morning came, but it always just left him feeling guilty. And wanting more. He wanted so badly for Linhardt to be curled up _next_ to him, soft skin and loose hair and lips flushed red from all of his kisses. He wanted to hold him and not let go until all of the sadness drained from his eyes and all of his cares melted off of him. He wanted to see a kind of light in his smile that would show only for him, and— well, he supposed Linhardt wasn’t the only one who wanted what he couldn’t have.

——— 

“Do you swear to protect your liege, even if it costs you your life?” The cold gaze of the king was fixed on Caspar, who was kneeling down in front of the throne.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he repeated as he had with all of the previous oaths that the king had listed off. What else was he _supposed_ to say when he’d been working for fifteen years for this very moment? 

“Do you swear to treat Prince Linhardt von Hevring as your liege before anything else?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,”

The prince, who was standing next to his father, let out a sigh, and Caspar wondered if he was getting bored.

“Finally, do you swear to put your liege first in every endeavor?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Caspar said, more firmly than before. 

The king stood to lift a polished sword that shone iridescently in the light pouring from the stained-glass windows. He felt it tap his right shoulder lightly, then come over his head to tap his left. “From now on, you will be known as Sir Caspar von Bergliez, the personal retainer of my son, Prince Linhardt von Hevring.” 

When Caspar stood up, Linhardt stepped forward and took his hands in his own. He pressed a small insignia into his palm, and guided his other hand to clasp over it. “Congratulations, Caspar,” he said, smiling gently.

The new knight gazed at the insignia in his palm when the prince stepped back. The elegant curving lines of Saint Cethleann’s symbol, which the royal family had adopted, were etched on the polished silver pin. “It’s beautiful…” he breathed before looking back up at Linhardt, who he thought was even more so. Especially today, with his hair (which he had been growing out) done up neatly and the light catching on his small earrings. For a moment, Caspar wondered if Saint Cethleann was half as lovely.

“Thank you, Linhardt,” he barely heard himself say amidst his daze. He was so happy he was hardly aware that the king was still in the room, watching them coldly. Almost involuntarily, he found himself wrapping his arms tightly around the prince. Though his eyes were a little misty, he managed to keep his tears at bay. When the two pulled away, they looked into each other’s eyes for a second before turning back to face the throne.

“Thank you for giving me the honor of serving His Highness,” Caspar said with a bow, as formally as he could manage. The king simply nodded in response, clearly ready for them to leave so he could continue going about his business.

“Now, for your first knightly assignment,” Linhardt turned to him, a humorous smile on his face. “Carry me to the parlor. We’ll celebrate your accomplishments over pastries.”

“Oh, yeah!” Caspar shouted, grinning from ear to ear. He happily scooped up the prince and enjoyed the prince’s ringing laughter as he ran through the halls of the castle with him in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to give a special thanks to Hoshi (ladylune) for giving me the idea to do a hand kissing scene for this AU!
> 
> Come hang out with me on Twitter!
> 
> Links to my Curious Cat, Tumblr, etc. on my Carrd.
> 
> Comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you're enjoying the story! Kudos and comments are appreciated!


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